


Change (in the house of flies)

by DarlingNikki



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, M/M, Rimming, dark!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingNikki/pseuds/DarlingNikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will sees everyone as corpses instead of living people, everyone but Hannibal that is.  Will's impulse control breaks down, and he tries to make his Hannibal fantasies come true, but Hannibal is always the better monster than Will and turns the tables on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change (in the house of flies)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Deftones, Change (in the house of flies), which is a track on their album White Pony. Follow me on tumblr for random thoughts, story information, and whatever else I get bored and do! pinkglitterygoth.tumblr.com
> 
> Also, I just want to say that the number of hits that my other stories have gotten is really freaking awesome, and keeps me writing! Thanks so much!

Sharp teeth glinting porcelain white in dark corners of the mind. The sheen of blood gleaming black in the silent night. The hot sticky rush of a slashed carotid artery spraying across my face. These are the things I think of when I close my eyes.

 

There is a hunger in me, and I feel it with every person my eyes rest upon. The nice blond lady that rings me up the pet store when I'm buying dog food, I see her ravaged. Torn apart as if by a pack of wild dogs, but in reality human hands and teeth. I don't meet her eyes because I see the ghostly imprint of her death shimmering over her. I see Jack, and I dream of the heaviness of a baseball bat in my hands. I dream of the bat connecting over and over with meaty thunks, reducing him. Making him feel as I do. I dream of tying Alana to a bed, her I would take my time with. I would slice her over and over, small cuts, not even truly painful. I would kiss each cut after I made it, honoring her, but I would continue this treatment for days, until the life has finally bled out of her. I would set the scene by candlelight, a gross parody of human intimacy.

 

I never enjoy meeting people's eyes. I see too much of them, and not enough of the fantasies I dream of. I want more. I want to make one of these come true, but if I do I am no better than the killers I catch. I am the FBI's pet psycho, I help them catch the killers because I think just like they do. I don't think any of them realize that each murder, I don't view them as a silent witness to the hereseys committed, I am the conductor. The killers design becomes mine, and for one luxurious moment I am transformed and the monster that hides in my mind is sated. The urge to give in and just finally make just one of my dreams come true passes. I can breath easier, for a short while, before the crippling guilt of it all crashes me back to the ground.

 

I crash after each murder I emphasize with. I know this is wrong. I know that these are people, before they are transformed to so much rotting dead meat. I can't go on like this. The strain is becoming too great. I sleepwalk. I wake up in the middle of the night sweating heavily from my dreams. Worst of all, sometimes, for the more artistic and beautiful canvases, I wake to an aching hard on that I can't even bear the thought of touching. Those nights are always the worst. Those nights I wake up, and get into my shower under the coldest possible stream of water. The ice cold water is a punishment for my urges. The water washes away my sins, except each day brings a new one to light.

 

A trip to Hannibal's Baltimore practice is always a test of my self control. Holding myself still, holding myself back, when all I can think of near him is how I'd like to push him down and take his ironclad self control away. I want to push him down and take kisses from his lips. I want to bite his neck and leave my mark there. I want to take hold of his tie and use it to strangle him as I push into his tight hole. Him I don't think of as dead. Him I imagine keeping forever, giving him a perfect collar of bites and bruises around his throat, so he knows he's mine. Each time they'd start to fade, I would repeat them so he never healed, never be free of my mark. In my dreams, I don't even care if he wants me or not. I just want to posses him entirely.

 

Sitting across from him thinking of all the ways I would debase him, destroy him, is always the test of my self control. It would be so easy, I don't even think he would expect it of me, even though he knows some of the ugliest parts of my particular gift. He thinks of me as a friend. He doesn't see the monster I could easily become.

 

For now though, I sit and let his carefully enunciated syllables wash over me. His accent is exotic and quite lyrical to my ears, he could read the phone book out loud to me and I would still be happy to listen. I think he's noticed that I'm not really paying attention to his words, but he doesn't seem to mind, as I am still focused on him, watching his mouth move, watching his tongue dart out to moisten his lips, watching his hands tracing the veins to where they disappear under the cuffs of his suit. I still cannot fathom how this elegant man has such a regard for scruffy unstable me. He sees me and sees something worthy of his interest. I just can't understand it, but I wouldn't change it for anything. He almost makes the screaming echoing in my mind go silent. The madness that lurks within me is almost sated by just being in his presence. Yet still the thought of getting under his skin is rooted deep within me.

 

I just want to make him mine.

 

I can't sit still any longer. I can't just sit her and let him watch me. His gaze is under my skin and I am feeling like specimen ready to be dissected. I need to move before I do something I can't take back. If I move, maybe I can shake this disease that is crying for me to take him apart. I can't. I just can't because if I just give in, I become someone other than myself. I am not the monster I dream of. I am Will Graham, and it is 7:33 pm, and I am inside Hannibal's office in Baltimore. The thought grounds me. I don't have to give in to anything. I have Hannibal and even if he doesn't know every part of me, the parts he knows are enough. They are ugly and dark and shattered glass lying sprinkled on the ground between us.

 

Standing I begin to idly pace the confines of the office. My eyes pass over the numerous books, and the statue of a stag. Stags show up everywhere eventually. First only in my dreams, then it follows me silently into reality. A guardian, a avatar of my disease, that slowly bleeds into all aspects of my daily life. Today the stag is standing just beyond Hannibal's left shoulder, eyes red gazing at me steadily. It leads me to the deepest places in my dreams. Unconsciously, I find myself moving closer to it. Not really paying attention to Hannibal, who has gone silent and is watching me move closer to his chair, I keep my eyes focused on the world that only I can see.

 

The screaming is echoing, but I know that's it's only in my head, yet it's taken the aspect of hunting dogs baying because their prey is near. I start because I have moved so close that I am standing directly in front of Hannibal as he sits and looks up at me questioningly, our knees are so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

 

The world narrows to him. The stag is gone again. It's done it's job and lead me closer to the edge of temptation. I open my mouth, hoping for words to fall out, and explain this new madness to Hannibal, but there is nothing there. I am so very close to him. I can feel him. I wonder if he feels something this close to me, but he probably does not. I envision a red string connecting us together, running from my heart to his, marking him as meant for me. Something snaps, I am rage incandescent, and I want to lay a claim upon him. I want to make him mine, and nothing can stop me. I don't care anymore, damn the consequences, I can worry about those another day when I don't have madness in my veins.

 

So deliberately, I grab his tie in my hand, and wind it around my fist jerking it taut pulling against his neck, forcing his head up to where I am looming over him. He just watches me, still silent, as if he's just waiting to see where I will go with this. His gaze just feeds the rage, the need. I just can't do this anymore. I need. I feel like I'm pulling apart at my seams and becoming something new. This is release of the tension that is a constant presence in my life.

 

This is a cord binding me down snapping under pressure.

 

I lower myself down and brace my knees beside his thighs, I can feel corded muscle, a body well cared for in it very prime. His heat is searing me, leaving a mark where ever we are making contact. He is so perfect, and I just feel an urge to take in his scent and make it a part of my mind because after I do this I will never get the chance to be this close again. He will terminate our budding friendship, and run far far away from me, as he should. I am the monster I feared, dark and swarming with flies. He smells of cooking spices and expensive aftershave, no ships on the bottle for him. It is rich and heady and goes straight from my nose to my groin making me groan and rest my forehead against his exposed throat for a moment to catch my breath.

 

I don't know why he isn't pushing me off of him and away. I am in his personal bubble, stomping over every boundary we have in our relationship, but he is still just sitting there, allowing this. I will devour until there is nothing left to take if he doesn't stop me, but he doesn't even seem to care. His pulse beats steadily against my forehead, his carotid artery is close to my mouth. I could sink my teeth into it and tear. I could be bathing in his blood, I could watch, so very closely, as the life leaves his eyes.

 

Pulling my head back, away from that temptation, is excruciating, but I do. I pull back and look at his face, seeing a smirk writ there challenging me, to see what I'll do. I can't ignore that, now can I? I just have to show him, make him see me. Winding the tie in my hand tighter against his throat, I see his face start to go pale, as I lower my head to nip at his lips. Licking and sucking, I force my tongue past his lips and he begins to respond to me. He grips my hips and forces me down to grind against him, where I can feel that he is as hard as I am. He sees me, and is not running, my hand goes slack and I loosen my grip on his tie, finally allowing him to breathe again. He surges up from the chair, taking me with him, and instinctively my legs lock around his waist so I don't fall into the floor in a confused heap.

 

My control is gone, now in more ways than one. I may have initiated this, but he is stripping that away from me as he carries me to drop me on his desk. I can't stop myself from reaching upwards to wind my arms around his neck and start desperately kissing him again, until I have to pull back and pant and watch his lips now swollen and sticky with our mingled saliva.

 

His hands are now undoing the buttons of my plaid shirt, and pushing it down off my shoulders before he plucks it off and drops it in the floor. My thoughts can't keep up with him, with this development. This is gross breach of doctor/patient etiquette and he doesn't even seem to care. My white t-shirt is soon joining my plaid one on the floor, and I am shirtless. He pushes me, and I go backwards on the desk, knocking pens and paper and his weird black bowl thing to the floor, where it shatters. There are books digging into my spine, but I can't bring myself to really care about the discomfort. I can only focus on him. He is everything. He hands are undo my pants and then finally roughly pushing them and my boxers to rest around my ankles, stopped by the shoes still on my feet.

 

There is a manic glint in his eyes as he looks me over, inspecting me, eyes lingering over my weeping phallus. Then he is leaning over me, reaching into a desk drawer, where he pulls out a bottle of hand lotion. Somehow, I'm not surprised that he uses hand lotion to keep his hands smooth. It just fits with the picture of him in my head. I realize I didn't see the whole picture, he is more interesting than I'd thought at our first meeting when I'd told him that I didn't find him very interesting. He was right then though, I do find him infinitely interesting. He is a puzzle I think I could spend my life studying and never knowing the whole, only seeing pieces and parts.

 

His hand is between my thighs now, fingers probing for my entrance, as the first careful finger pushes past the muscles there, involuntarily my back arches and a low groan escapes my throat. If anything, his face is satisfied like a dog who has lain a carcass at my feet for approval, and another finger joins the first and he begins to move them in and out of me going deeper with each movement. He is curling them upwards in just the right way, stroking them over my prostate, making little electric shocks course through my entire body, and needy whimpers issue from me. Control is so far away from me now, and I start begging, “More, more, please.” My eyes clench shut, “I need you, please.” I can't look him in the face as I say this. His hand withdraws from inside me, but I hear the parting of teeth in his zipper and a fear that he would stop, and leave me like this evaporates. He is going to continue, so my eyes open again to watch him.

 

The stag is standing behind him again, watching me, but I am quickly distracted by him pulling his cock through the opening in his pants. His penis is uncircumcised and thick. I'm not sure if his leisurely finger fucking with only two fingers will be enough to make this comfortable. A small frisson of fear runs through me, but it only spurs me on. I reach up again and grab hold of his tie and pull him down to me, so I can kiss him and pull him between my spread thighs. He moves his hips, and holds himself steady and he positions himself at my puckered hole. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he pushes himself into me in one steady inexorable movement. It burns. It burns with every inch he gains, but the baying hounds are once again silent in my head. He is my focus, instead of the world inside of me. He is roughly kissing me, pushing me back onto the desk, keeping me focused on the present, and the sensation of him splitting me apart.

 

Finally, he is completely inside of me, I can feel his balls brushing against me. He takes a deep shuddering breath, then starts to pull away. I whine. I can't stop it. It just bubbles out of me, independent of my control. He gives me an amused laugh and a fond grin, then he is pushing back into me, quicker and more surely than his initial thrust. He pulls away from me and begins to thrust in earnest, bouncing my body off of his strong hips. The books under me are going to leave bruises up and down my spine, and the ones near my head end up pushed carelessly to the floor.

 

He snaps his hips, and hits that spot inside of me. Every part of me is contracting and wild exclamations fall past my lips. “Harder, more, please, Hannibal!” My mouth is running without any input from my brain. He digs his fingers into my leg, and casually moves it to rest over his shoulder. He is relentless in his pursuit of pleasure, and this position just opens me up more and makes it easier for him to hit my prostate with each thrust. His zipper is rubbing against me, cutting into my thigh, but the pain only continues to drive me wilder, a spice enhancing this experience. He's still completely dressed, and here I am lying across his desk playing the part of an easy whore.

 

I wonder how I look to him, debauched and wanton, opened up and begging for more. My cock aches, and I reach to lightly touch it. I begin to stroke it in counterpoint to his thrust, and it is just what I need, quickly I am falling over the edge into orgasm, letting my cum spurt onto my chest, while he continues to relentlessly work me over. In and out, the motion is all I can focus on. In and out, he goes, and I am panting because I am now over sensitive from the orgasm I'd achieved, but he is still going strong. He begins to push into me harder, and his hand goes around my throat now, squeezing, testing, before tightening and cutting off my air again. As I start to suffocate, I gaze wondrously in his eyes. This is everything and more, and his rhythm starts to stutter, and his balls tighten up, and finally he is cumming inside of me. I can feel his sperm burning hot inside of me.

 

He releases my throat, and I reach a hand to touch, where I'm sure bruises are now forming. I can feel his cum leaking from inside of me, and I am utterly wrecked. His eyes are once again inspecting me as I lie there and try to catch my breath. Smoothly, he slides down onto his knees and faces my leaking and abused hole. I can hear as he takes a deep breath, smelling the sweat and cum on my skin, then his tongue is gently lapping against me, licking up all trace of his cum from my skin. He presses his tongue inside me, past my sphincter, searching for every last drop of cum inside of me. My cock gives a weak twitch, still too soon, still too much stimulation. I writhe under his ministrations.

 

Then he is standing, and tucking himself back into his slacks, once again looking as perfect and put together as he normally does, only a few stray sweat dampened hairs betraying his facade. I'm not sure how he does it. I'm a mess, covered in bruises, sweat, and cum, and he barely look exerted. Somehow, I feel like my earlier fantasies of keeping him, would be more correct if I was the one being kept away somewhere to be used and made into a possession.

 

I can't meet his eyes right now. Instead, I lever myself off of his desk and begin to try to clean myself off. I don't know what this means for us, our friendship, our relationship, but all I want is for this to happen again.

 

Hannibal and the stag watch me as I limp shamefully out of his office.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr! pinkglitterygoth.tumblr.com


End file.
